Recognition
by HarlequinEnigma896
Summary: Inspired by the back story provided by "Batman Confidential: Lovers and Madmen," the Joker and Harley meet; the rest is, as they say, history.
1. Prologue

_**Recognition**_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

Ten o'clock on a Friday night had never been so slow. Harleen sat on the floor behind the bar, leaning against several boxes of liquor that she had brought in from the storage room earlier that night. Two of her coworkers towered over her as they shuffled about, attending to the few people that perched on the bar stools, sipping their drinks quietly. Neon signs dimly lit the establishment, attempting to work in conjunction with Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" to enhance the atmosphere of the place.

"Leeny?" A voice called. Harleen recognized the nickname that she had been given by her coworkers. It was an almost endearing nickname, very different from the one that she was usually received from others. The person that had called her, however, sounded less than affectionate.

"_Leeny?!"_ The same voice repeated. With a sigh, Harleen stood reluctantly, turning to face the person on the opposite side of the bar.

"What's up?" She asked the scowling brunette, resting her elbows on the surface in front of her.

"I was supposed to leave an hour ago to meet up with my boyfriend," Eleanor, her fellow cocktail waitress, complained. "Which means that I'm leaving now. That means that you get to take over for me."

Harleen dug her teeth into her tongue, holding back a jibe. All she had to do was tell Joe, the owner of the bar, that Eleanor had left early. That'd piss him off. He was a nice guy in general, but took his business very seriously.

"All right. Just go." She said dismissively, waving Eleanor away. Harleen watched her leave out of the front entrance, rolling her eyes to the ceiling once the door slammed shut. Inhaling, Harleen pulled her hair into a low ponytail, her long, blonde locks brushing against her shoulder blades as she moved away from the counter.

A good fifteen minutes passed by Harleen drumming her fingers absentmindedly against a water glass in front of her before she heard bells chiming, announcing the entrance of another customer.

Pulling her eyes away from the oblivion in which she had previously been so engaged, Harleen turned her gaze to the man that trudged into the building. Upon first glance, she couldn't help but notice his appearance; tall, head covered with golden hair that stopped an inch below his ears, his muscular shoulders slumped, and his deep brown eyes gazing at the floor. Though he seemed clearly depressed, Harleen knew that, in a word, he could be called attractive.

The man slowly approached the counter, taking a seat at one of the stools on the far end of the bar. Tightening her ponytail, Harleen took several strides forward, stopping in front of him.

"Can I get you anything?" She questioned, offering a sympathetic smile. The man looked up, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones.

"Scotch on the rocks, please." He requested, interlacing his fingers and resting his head upon his hands. Giving a nod, Harleen moved to the opposite side of the bar, dropping several ice cubes into a glass before pouring the liquor into it.

"Heads up." She warned him before sliding the glass to him across the counter. He caught it easily, curling his fingers around it.

"Thanks." He said, raising the glass to her before pressing it to his lips and tilting it back.

"Not a problem." She responded, brushing a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Taking up a clean towel, Harleen began cleaning several glasses within reach of her.

"So, are you full-time here?"

Harleen spun to face the customer. His eyes, while still filled with melancholy, held some sort of genuine curiosity in them.

"No, actually. I'm not." She replied, setting down the glass she had been tending to.

"Ah. College student working to pay for tuition?" He inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"You hit the nail on the head." She told him, folding her arms across her chest and resting an elbow against the counter.

"Let me guess," He began, narrowing his eyes. "Medical school."

"Yes." She said with a grin, confirming another one of his suspicions. "I'm studying to be a psychiatrist."

The man simply nodded in return, taking another sip from his glass before posing his next question: "Got a name, sweetheart?"

"Harleen Quinzel." She answered, not fazed by being called "sweetheart". She was used to men hitting on her; after all, she worked at a bar.

The man's eyes lit up at her response. "Harleen Quinzel, huh?" He started, testing it, allowing it to roll off his tongue. "That's quite a name you've got there, Miss _Quinz-el._"

"Boy, do I know it." She said, rolling her eyes.

"I like it." He informed her. "It's unique."

Harleen gave a shrug, tapping her foot against the floor. "So, now that you know my name, it seems only fair that you tell me yours." She demanded subtly, wetting her lips.

"Jack. Just Jack."

"Well, _Jack_, something seems like it's bothering you. I'm a good listener, if you wanna talk to me." Harleen offered, sounding slightly hopeful.

Giving a sigh, Jack set his drink down, rubbing his neck as he thought.

"I've got this one… _complaint_ with life." He enlightened her, twisting his mouth up. Harleen gave a small "mhmm", inviting him to continue. "I've got this calling, this _job_, but it's so _boring_." Jack said, spreading his hands apart in order to show his boredom in a gesture. "I mean, I'm able to do my job so perfectly that I don't even have fun doing it." He grumbled, tousling his hair with a hand. "Really, what's to enjoy about perfection?"

Blinking her eyes, Harleen noted his intelligence. Knitting her eyebrows, she opened her mouth to speak, putting her own thoughts forward: "I think you're looking at it the wrong way. This is a _gift_." She insisted. Jack quirked a brow in interest. "There are lots of people that don't have a special talent for what they do."

"Which means?"

"Which means that you _owe_ it to yourself and to all those regular people to do what you're best at." She said, reaching her hand out to Jack's and grasping it within her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You know what? You're right." He stated, a grin growing on his face. The smile was contagious, spreading to Harleen's mouth as well. Swallowing the rest of his scotch, Jack reached into his pocket, laying several bills upon the counter.

"Thanks, doll face." He said, raising her hand and gently pressing his lips against them. "You're a bright girl."

"Thank you." Harleen accepted his praise, her grin growing wider. "And you're welcome."

* * *

Harleen had to admit, she hated the summer heat this year. It was a sad statement, as she'd always enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the carefree attitude that came with the season, but now that she was living alone in an apartment without air conditioning, she had been robbed of her love for the heat and instead felt a tolerant annoyance for it.

Walking into the kitchen, she set down her keys and the several envelopes that she hadn't bothered to look at yet; all of them bills, most likely. Her cell phone sat on the table. She picked it up, glancing at the screen. "Missed Call" it read. Harleen checked her calls, seeing that she had missed a call from Jonathan, her boyfriend and the head of Arkham Asylum. They had met when he had come in as a guest speaker to her abnormal psychology class six months ago. Harleen had always had an attraction to those that were off-limits; mentors, coworkers, her best friend's boyfriend… the list went on, of course.

Exhaling loudly, Harleen set down the phone, picking up her mail and beginning to fan herself with it. _No sex in here tonight_. She promised herself. Jonathan would probably be begging for a lay, but it was just too damn hot in her apartment for them to go at it without dying from a heat stroke.

Harleen reluctantly stopped fanning herself, setting the mail down, picking up an envelope from Gotham University. Biting her lip, Harleen ripped into it. She was positive it wasn't a good thing; probably something about missing her tuition payment. Holding up the letter, she read:

"_Miss Quinzel,_

_We are pleased to inform you that we indeed received your payment. However, said payment was unneeded, and will be for the rest of your schooling at the Gotham University Medical Program. An unnamed benefactor has graciously paid for your remaining tuition. All checks from now until the time of your graduation are unnecessary. _

_Regards,_

_Gotham University Medical Program_

Harleen's eyes narrowed as she finished reading. Who had she met that would be willing to pay her way for medical school? _Was_ it someone she knew? Shaking her head, Harleen sat on her couch. She read the letter once more, ensuring that it said what she thought it had.

There was a knock on the door, followed by the calling of "Harleen?"

"Shit!" Harleen cursed, standing from the couch. It was Jonathan. Reaching up, she let her hair fall from the ponytail it had been in, sliding the hair tie onto her wrist. Shaking her hair out, she moved to the front of her apartment, opening the door. There stood Jonathan, dressed in full business attire. He had obviously just come from Arkham.

"Hey, hon." Harleen greeted, wrapping her arms around his neck. Jonathan grinned, pulling her even closer, his lips meeting hers, giving her a deep kiss. Harleen pulled away, smiling. "Come in." She welcomed, leading him into her apartment.

"You're in a good mood, Harley." He commented. She nodded in response. "Something good happen?"

"Yes, actually." She returned. "I got a letter from Gotham University saying that some unnamed benefactor paid the remainder of my med school tuition."

"Well," Jonathan began, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That's definitely something to be happy about."

Harleen's grin widened. "Wanna know what else there is to be happy about?" She asked.

"What?"

"_This."_

Harleen pulled Jonathan against her, the two of them sinking to the floor.

Jonathan might just get his lay after all.

* * *

_**Hey guys!**_

_**So, that was basically the Batman Confidential Joker and Harley origin story, but with some twists, added, of course, by me. I'm planning on using it as a backdrop for a full length Joker/Harley story. Feel free to leave comments; this was just an introduction into the possible idea. It was originally intended to be a one-shot, as could have probably been guessed.**_

**_Anyways, I just felt like uploading this on here. We'll see how it goes._**

**_-Harlequin_**


	2. Chapter 1

**_Chapter 1_**

* * *

Harleen Quinzel sat on the sofa in Dr. Jeremiah Arkham's office, patiently waiting for the head of Arkham Asylum to enter the room. She glanced down at her coffee cup, absently drumming her fingers on its smooth paper surface. She could just as easily have settled for the coffee and the Styrofoam cups that could be found in the break room, but just the basic brew… well, it wasn't enough to give Harleen the energy that she needed just then.

By all rights, she should have been energized enough as it was; her first day working as an intern at Gotham's famed mental hospital for the criminally insane. _Wow._ She should have been _terrified_; nervous beyond all belief. Though, strangely, she was not. True, she was slightly nervous; something would clearly have been wrong with her if she felt no unease whatsoever. As it was, she had not gotten a wink of sleep the night before. All night, the blonde had been awake, hoping that it would _finally_ sink in that she had gotten the job that she had always wanted. It hadn't. Not until when she had dressed for work and looked at herself in the mirror; she looked professional. Like a true woman, despite the fact that she still felt very much like a girl inside; a girl who could mess things up, who could ruin her chances with one wrong move. She was still young, a nobody within the walls of Arkham.

_That's going to change,_ she thought, taking a sip of her cappuccino, swallowing quickly so as to evade the bitter taste that came with the extra shot of espresso. _I'll make something of myself. I know I can. _

The coffee seemed to be working, as the woman's headache had vanished rather completely by that point. _Thank God for Starbucks._ As she saw it, she was perfectly ready; perfectly capable of handling whatever it was that Dr. Arkham threw at her. He had, after all, picked her for a reason. Not every student of psychology was up for working with such patients as those that resided in the asylum. No; it was not a place for the faint of heart, which Harleen certainly was not. She was not so easily intimidated; nor was she frightened by the psychotic behaviors of many of Arkham's patients. She was certain that she was one of the best possible candidates for the position which she now held; Dr. Arkham, apparently, was of the same mind on the matter.

Speaking of Dr. Arkham…

Jeremiah Arkham walked into his office about ten minutes after Harleen arrived, flashing her a friendly smile and taking a seat at his desk. With a small gesture of his hand, he invited her to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Lifting her purse and coffee, the blonde wordlessly complied, setting her things down beside the chair. _This was it._ She was about to be assigned to her first case as a doctor of psychiatry.

"Good morning, Doctor Quinzel," Dr. Arkham greeted. "I trust that you've fully prepared yourself for you first day?"

_No. Not fully_.

"Absolutely," Harleen replied. She was ready and quite eager to get to work, but it all seemed so… surreal to her. Perhaps that would all be remedied once she entered a so-called consultation room and began to talk to her first patient. "I couldn't be more pleased to be working here, Doctor Arkham."

Jeremiah gave a small chuckle, and Harleen could not help but wonder if she had come off as too eager in that moment. "I speak for both myself and the staff when I say that we are all very pleased to have you joining us," he intoned, his eyes wandering briefly over the features of her face. "Yes, very pleased."'

Harleen murmured a quick "thank you" before glancing to the pile of manila folders that sat atop Doctor Arkham's desk. His gaze followed hers, a knowing look taking hold of his features upon determining the object of her focus. "_Ah_, yes," he acknowledged, dragging the folders across the surface until they were in front of the both of them. "Your first assignment. I have several potentials here. I, personally, believe I have narrowed it down to two, but you're welcome to decide for yourself in this matter. Only the most basic information regarding each of these patients is in the folders," he explained, running his fingers up the side of the stack. "Patient confidentiality, of course."

"Oh, of course," Harleen accepted, nodding. She glanced for a moment at the manila folders, weighing her options. She could sort through the potential patients and decide for herself… or she could take one of her boss' suggestions. Ah, but which was the smarter move? _A little ass-kissing never hurt anyone, did it?_ "I think I'll take one of the ones that you've picked out for me, sir."

"Excellent," Jeremiah said with a grin. He flipped through several folders, pulling out two and sliding them across the desk to her. "I think either one could work very well for you. You've proven to us that you are quite capable as a psychiatrist."

"Thank you, sir," the blonde responded, flipping open the first folder and looking over its contents. Upon doing so, however, it took everything that Harleen had to keep from gulping at what she saw. _Name: Crane, Jonathan._ What a coincidence. What an odd, unfortunate coincidence that her ex-boyfriend, the brilliant Dr. Jonathan Crane, had been named as a potential patient of hers. For two years, they had dated rather discreetly, lest she get in trouble for sleeping with her mentor. The man had taught her a great deal, and the two had been very much in love; Harleen had even pictured herself marrying him. That was before she learned of his extracurricular experimentation with a particular drug: the infamous fear toxin. Things had all gone downhill very quickly, then, and Harleen had wasted little time in leaving him; it wasn't too difficult to do, as he had promptly been locked up in the asylum that he once ran.

Truth be told, Harleen would have been happy to take up Jonathan's case; to do whatever she could to help him regain his sanity. But… she couldn't do it. She simply couldn't. With so many old emotions attached to the man and his case, it would have been too difficult for her to distance herself from him. And _that_, if discovered, would surely cost her the position she had only just been granted; she wasn't about to go against the APA and risk losing her job.

No to the first one, then. The blonde carefully closed the manila folder that held Jonathan's information, flipping open the other one that Dr. Arkham had selected for her. _Name: Unknown. Alias(es): The Joker._

Harleen could not hold back her reaction then, her eyes widening, then flashing up to meet Doctor Arkham's, seeking confirmation. _Was he serious?_ No, there was no way that he could possibly have meant to pull out the Joker's folder. "Excuse me, sir," she began, "But I think there must be some sort of mistake here."

Jeremiah Arkham shook his head. "There is no mistake, Doctor Quinzel. I assure you."

But… _why?_

"But, sir, this is _the Joker's_ file. I just… I find it a bit odd that the asylum's most high profile case would be assigned to an intern."

Dr. Arkham's lips curved downward in a slight frown. "Are you dissatisfied with my selections, Doctor Quinzel?"

Harleen was quick to mend her mistake. "No, not at all. Forgive me, Doctor Arkham. I was simply surprised that the board saw fit to let _me_ treat the Joker."

Jeremiah Arkham's face went blank, then. He was cool, collected; above all else, professional. Thus, Harleen was certain that his lack of expression was a mask, of sorts, to hide his true feelings of frustration. "We had doubts, of course," he began, his eyes settling momentarily on the Joker's folder. "But, to be honest, many of us have already tried to treat him, and many more a refusing to even _try_; those would be the ones with families."

_Oh. So that was it._ They had chosen Harleen because she was fresh meat; because she had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Nothing to lose… excepting her life, that was. What harm could there be, after all, in letting someone new attempt to get through to the Joker. Surely _someone_ could do it; why not Harleen Quinzel?

For a moment, Harleen remained speechless, her gaze flicking down to the Joker's folder once more. Finally, she let out a soft breath, giving a slow nod as well. "Okay," she said, determination growing in her voice. "I'll do it. I'll take the Joker's case."

* * *

**_Hey, guys! _**

**_Okay, I know I've got a few other things going on; several sequels, some one-shots, and a million other things, but I just remembered all of my plans for this story in particular, and I couldn't help but give it a bit of a go. So, we'll see how this ends up. I'd appreciate it very much if you'd leave a review; critiques are welcomed, if you find something to critique. _**

**_Thanks,_**

**_-Harley_**


End file.
